The Beeper King
by Nairobi-Harper
Summary: Bob Pataki was once a man who felt that he had it all, but nothing lasts forever...


Author's note: I've noticed in this fandom that there are many stories about Miriam, but very few about Bob. Or rather, the ones that we do see about Bob primarily put him into an antagonist position. However, in spite of the fact that many of Bob's actions on the show are inexcusable, I believe that every person's motivations should be closely studied, as the interesting thing about people is that we all seem to either justify things that we do even when we know that they are wrong, or we believe that we are right to some extent the majority of the time. My goal is to write him in the most realistic way that I can without essentially justifying any of his actions toward the people in his family, and I hope that I succeed with my goal.

This story takes place shortly after "The Jungle Movie," and in this story, we will see how Bob feels about having lost his home and business, his feelings toward his family, his past, etc. I hope that you enjoy!

Warning: This story is a bit sad, and it happens to deal with physical abuse. It is also somewhat long, as I wanted to tell Bob's story in full.

 **The Beeper King**

Hard work was supposed to pay off. That was what he had grown up hearing. He heard it from his father, from his teachers, from the people on television – working hard would pay the bills and make a man happy. But, Bob supposed, he could never really _trust_ people. People were always wrong in one way or another, and the fact that he was living in his own store was evidence.

As far back as he could possibly remember, Bob Pataki had been a **hard** worker. His father simply wouldn't take anything other than hard work from he and his brother, George. His father had to be the laziest man that Bob knew, always drinking and shouting at his mother, and yet his father was a man who demanded respect. That was the one thing that Bob had appreciated about his old man. The way that, even as he stood there in his own filth and fury, he could get a room of people to listen to his shouts and abide to them. People in Hillwood _knew_ Francis Pataki, all because Francis Pataki had a presence like no other. They knew that he was a bad man, and yet they respected him, because respect was what a man needed from other people to get by.

Bob had never earned much respect, not when he had been in school. The other kids seemed to hate him. They teased he and George about their clothes, and he walked into school nearly every day being called one name or another. George was always a weak boy, they said; even though George was older, George never protected Bob from the taunts. George simply hid out in the bathroom, or didn't come to school at all, because he was weak and he couldn't face anyone who said a single bad thing about him.

It was pathetic, really. When the girls would come around and call Bob ugly, George was simply quiet, as though he believed it himself and felt that Bob deserved it. He'd never say it – he couldn't have George start crying – but he resented George. George never truly cared about him. George never had his back. George hated him, just like everyone else did, just like their parents did.

But that was how everyone was, wasn't it? Everyone cared about themselves. His father never did anything for the family – he drank and he made his employees work longer than necessary, because his father loved himself. His mother didn't do anything for the family – she cooked dinner, yes, but women were _**supposed**_ to do that. All that she ever did, anyway, was smoke and complain to Bob and George about how she longed to be out in the working world with the men. George pitied her for it. Bob hated her for it.

And that had only been elementary school. Middle school was a time when things took a turn for the worst. Suddenly, his mother was talking of getting a job – she was rambling on about how his father was just _such_ a failure ("just like you, Bobby," she'd add,) and how a kind man had offered her a secretary position. Bob had laughed, just like his father, when she had mentioned it. George had looked uneasy, and yet he had smiled at her, because he had always been too sensitive and too idealistic. George may have been the one with straight A's, but George had never really understood how the world worked. He was probably going to be one of those hippies, walking up and down the street and yapping about "free love" and "women's rights." Ha. George was going to be successful, just like all the teachers said, but there were going to be big plans in _his_ future, too.

Bob could feel it. He could imagine it. He imagined it all the time. As he heard his mother being slammed up against a wall, or tried to go to bed after his father had "punished" him, he imagined his future. He could see it clearly, so clearly. He imagined having a business, being his own boss. If he were his own boss, he wouldn't have to hear the teachers tell him that he'd probably never have grades great enough to get into college. He wouldn't have to hear from his mother daily about how he was probably going to end up even poorer than they already were, all because he kept getting himself into fights. He would never have to hear the word "failure" come out of his father's mouth again, never have to sleep with bruises.

Ah, yes, it would all be perfect. He'd have a wife – she'd be a homemaker, and he'd hear no talk from her of "finding a job." He'd have one child, because he didn't like children much then, and he couldn't imagine liking children much as an adult – so why would he have two? His parents had always liked to say "once is a blessing, twice is a curse," anyway. He knew that they were talking about him when they brought it up. And so he'd have one child, far in the future, and that was the way that things would be.

High school proved to be the worst time of his life. He spent every single day wishing and hoping that he'd get out of school. His grades still weren't the best, never were going to be – his mother didn't even roll her eyes anymore when she saw the C's and D's on his progress reports – and George was going to have a chance to get out of their awful house faster than he would. It made him a little jealous, knowing that George was going to get away sooner than he would, but he pushed the thought out of his mind. He needed to have a plan, something to do after high school. He wasn't going to college, and everyone knew _that._

He checked out books from the library about business. He read them, not missing a single word, because he was going to do this. He was going to show **them.** He was sick of the scowls from people, or the pitying looks that the older girls gave him. He didn't need their irritation, and he didn't need their pity. He was going to gain their respect, because respect would prove that he was above them. Owning a business would show them all how wrong they were, and how right he was. He'd be getting their money, because they would _**need**_ what he was selling. They would need him, and he wouldn't be a failure in their eyes. He wouldn't be little Bobby with the ripped jeans and six-month old shoes. He was about to be rich and successful, the kind of man that the girls would fawn over.

During freshman year, he tried out for the football team. He was used to being shoved around by the players, and he knew that most of them were idiots – just as dumb as the teachers said that _he_ was – but they were good at something, and that was earning them respect. The coach had laughed at him when he had said that he wanted to try-out, but no, football was something that he was good at. Great at, even. He had always played football, and he wasn't about to be rejected from the team, a team of no-good players. He went out on the field, and for once in his life, he **showed** that coach. He played a practice game with the other team members, and he _won._ Coach said that he had "stamina" and "speed." They were going to need "a guy like him," apparently. And he was about to reject the offer, just to show that guy up – but he said "yes," instead, because things were finally working out for him, and he wasn't about to lose an opportunity like this.

Being a football player was just as great as Bob could have imagined it to be. George was out of the house now – had gone off to college on one of his _many_ scholarships, apparently – and it was Bob's turn to shine. Even though he was "one of the poor kids," he was still making the team more wins than any player in the school. He was competitive, the coaches said, and his competitiveness was the best thing about someone like him. He knocked players down and he passed to his team members. He was ruthless, that's what all the girls said, and they loved it. The other boys, the ones who had spat on him and made fun of him, were apologizing to him.

It was during the sixth game that the team gave him his new nickname: "Big Bob." He was a winner in their eyes, and a winner _deserved_ a nickname like that. And he was _so_ tall and fit, too, according to the girls, so it made sense.

Being a winner felt great. No one cared if he wasn't smart. Maybe his grades were terrible and maybe he wasn't learning as much as he could from the tutors, but it didn't even _matter_ if he didn't go off to college anymore, or at least that's what the teachers said. A boy like him – a _man_ like him – was going to be successful no matter what he did.

His old man still wasn't proud, of course, and he was still falling asleep with bruises, but everyone else loved him. He wasn't allowed to complain about his old man to anyone. His old man would "beat him silly," if he did, and he always made that a very well-known fact.

He wasn't going off to college, and he knew that. He didn't need college. He had friends now, and girlfriends. People still thought that he was an idiot, but now he was an idiot who could still be more successful than any of the glasses-wearing geeks who walked down the hallways and talked of their board games.

In his junior year, he started working at an electronics store. He was going to need a job, and he certainly wouldn't be getting one of those "smart people" jobs, and so he figured that it would be decent experience, or whatever it was that everyone tended to yap about. His boss was a hard man – didn't take anything from anyone, sort of like his father, but his boss was a better man than his father – and he told Bob that he had only hired him because he saw "determination" in his eyes, or something like that. He wouldn't say it, but Bob thought that that the man was a decent guy. He showed him how to use everything without getting annoyed, and he was a man of respect, but he wasn't a man of violence. He wasn't some kind of tree-hugging hippie, but he wasn't lazy, either, and Bob almost wished that the man was his father.

It was tough, initially, but he found himself taking a shine to all the gadgets in the shop. He longed to be his own boss, and he complained about it to his boss on some days, but the man always had the same response: "When I'm dead, Bob, you'll be your own boss. But that day isn't today, and so if you want this job, you had better do what I say."

The last day of high school was one of the best and worst days of his life. His mother had come, and George had come out of the city to see him off on his big day. His father hadn't come, and that made him want to punch a wall. He wasn't surprised, and he was somewhat happy that his father wasn't here to spoil the event, but he just wished that his father could see him now, shining on stage. He had gotten his diploma – he never _**really**_ had the grades for it, but his coaches had "pulled a few strings" to assure that he'd be getting it. His mother and George tried to hug him when he walked off the stage, but he didn't let them. He wasn't going to give them that opportunity. Hugs were for sissies, anyway. Bragging was what the men did, and so he shoved that diploma in their faces with a grin.

His father had tried to slap him when he had walked through the door. The man was drunker than ever, barely able to stand on his own feet, and he was rambling on about how no matter what kind of "stinkin' diploma," Bob had, he'd never succeed out in the _real_ world. Bob had pushed back, _much_ harder. George and his mother tried to move away from the scene, because like always, neither of them were _**really**_ on his side. They'd come with him to get that diploma, but they were more concerned about themselves, because that was just how people were.

"I'll succeed more than you ever will, Grandpa!" He had shouted back. He'd shouted at his father before, plenty of times, but this time, he was seething… this was _his_ day. It wasn't time for his father to throw _another_ tantrum. "Criminy, I'll move out, and I'll be _way_ more than you could ever imagine!"

Instead of pushing back, his father had stood there, glaring at him. There was hatred in his eyes, just as always. But this hatred… it was different. It was an emotion, or perhaps a mix of emotions, that couldn't quite be placed. The man grinned. "You're gonna make something of yourself, eh, Bobby? You really think that just because you're some kind of a… a what, football star, that you'll actually make out in the real world?" He let out of a huff of laughter. "You couldn't even pass a stinkin' English class, and you _**really**_ think that you'll make it? You're not even going to any school, not like George did. You won't make anything of yourself, Bobby. You're not a man. You're a boy with a diploma."

Suddenly, Bob saw red. It was everywhere. He saw it in every memory that he had, in every step that he took toward his father… and he punched him. He put all of his anger, all of those years, into the punch, because his father deserved it. George gasped, but Bob wasn't going to turn around. His father was on the ground, his lip bleeding, and he… laughed. Laughed for a little too long, laughed a little too much.

Bob was seething. He couldn't believe it. He finally stood up against his old man, and now he was a _joke?_ "Why the hell are you laughing?" The man continued laughing, almost hysterically, and Bob knew that George and his mother must have been horrified. Bob could feel his impatience growing. He balled his fist up. If hitting his father had been so easy the first time, it wouldn't be difficult to do again… He raised his voice. "I said, why the _hell_ are you laughing? What, do you need to go off to the funny farm?"

His father laughed for a moment more, seemingly enjoying Bob's irritation, and then he stopped, grinning. "You finally did it, Bobby. Maybe you're more ready for the real world than I thought." He chuckled, not caring that the rest of his family seemed to be staring on in horror. "I want your shit out of my house, by next week. Clearly, your mother and I did a…" The man laughed once more, "decent job of raising ya, kiddo."

He could feel himself shaking with anger. "Out of the house? I _**just**_ graduated!"

"You can stay with me, Bob," George said quietly. Bob looked him up and down, scowling. His tree-hugging hippie of a brother really thought that he would want to stay with _him?_

"And what makes ya think I wanna stay with you, hmm?" Bob asked. "I don't _need_ hand-outs, pally – I'm gonna be one of those self-made men, and a self-made man doesn't need any of _your_ help!"

His mother sighed. "Bob, don't make this hard on George…"

Hard on _George?_ The people in this family must have been insane, he figured. "No! I'm moving out, and I don't need any help here from George The Hippie! I'm gonna find a nice job, and a nice wife, and have a nice kid, and you'll _all_ see." He could see the shock on the faces of his mother and George, alongside the impressed, murderous, grin on his father's face. "I'll be outta here seven days from now, _pronto_." He squeezed his diploma in his hands, and started walking toward his room.

"But Bob, you're too young, and you're not in any schools!" George complained. "Do you even have a job?"

Bob turned around, his face a mixture between a scowl and a grin. "Yeah, _George._ I _do_ have a job. I'm the runner-up for being the boss of some electronics store, and soon enough, I'm gonna be richer than anyone from that little sissy school of yours could even _imagine_ being." George hadn't argued against him. He had simply looked at Bob with that look of pity, the look that he couldn't seem to escape. But he _was_ going to escape it. He knew he would then, and he knew he would now…

He had moved out the next week, as he had promised. His father had looked proud of him, for once. His mother had looked slightly sad, and slightly irritated, as she had hugged him and told him to go off and "do good" in the world.

The apartment that he moved into was a definite downgrade from the small home that he had grown up in, and he _hated_ it. He figured that it was much better than anything else that he could have gotten in this hell hole of a city, but coming home to it every night made him feel like nothing but a failure. It made him work harder at work, _much_ harder. It made him start asking his boss for raises when he seemed to be selling more gadgets than usual, because he needed a way _out_ of that apartment, and he was going to find his way out, no matter what.

He had been working in that very store when he had met _her,_ the most intriguing woman that he had ever met. Her name was Miriam. Miriam Olsen, she had said. She looked like the women in the commercials – all blonde hair and blue eyes and a nice smile. He didn't need to look at her twice to know that she was successful. She _radiated_ success, even as she was asking him if he knew anything about a typewriter a few aisles down. He knew, just from observing her, that she was different from him, that her _world_ was different from his. She wasn't rich, he guessed – the rich girls had a much different way of acting – but her family was certainly wealthier than his. She looked like the kind of girl whose mother would cry if she brought _him_ home, but he didn't care. He didn't believe in "love at first sight," or anything stupid like that, but he knew from taking a few looks at her that he wanted to go out with her.

And so he had asked her out, with the most charming smile that he could muster and with the boom to his voice that he gave when he was speaking to customers. He could tell from her giggle that she had been asked out like this before, and he had pretended that he wasn't surprised when she said, "Sure." That had been the beginning of it all.

He felt great when he was with her. He'd usually go out on dates with her after his boss had closed up the store, and she was so quiet around other people, but she _really_ came out of her shell when she was with him. She told him of how she was in college, preparing to work with animals one day (she had grown up on a farm, she said, and so she loved animals more than she loved herself,) and she spoke of the awards that she had won when she was younger. She was so impulsive, too, in a way that was contagious – she wanted to go out and _do_ things. She liked having _fun._ She wasn't all about work, like he was.

It wasn't all great, though. He knew of the things that Miriam's friends said about him – "big old brute" was something that he heard them whisper - but he didn't care. He was happy with Miriam, because she was sweet and smart and she taught him how to have _fun_. She was like no other woman that he had met. Her friends were a bunch of dumb bimbos, anyway, even if he'd never tell her that he thought that.

The years had continued on, and he and Miriam continued to be the power couple that he had known that they would be. His boss was getting older by the day, and Bob was well-aware that he was going to have his chance to take over the store soon enough. One day, however, she had told him something that had shocked him. She had come up to him, sobbing, and told him that she was pregnant. It made him angry to watch. He wasn't exactly _glad_ that she was pregnant – he was still working in that old store, and he'd need to ask for an even larger raise to pay for a _child –_ but he shook his head when she suggested an abortion, because this was his chance. Miriam was the woman that he wanted to marry, and she'd be a great mother, he knew. Why not marry her now?

Of course, Miriam had sobbed even more when he had demanded that she didn't get an abortion. She'd started mumbling about college and how she'd have to drop out. He had promised her that she'd get a chance to go back when their child was older. He knew that he was lying.

He loved Miriam for her intelligence, and he was sure that she'd be great at helping their child out with homework, but as selfish as it was, he wanted a _homemaker_ for a wife. He wanted this child to have the opportunities to have a great family, the kind of wealthy nuclear family that _he_ never had. If he was going to marry Miriam, she wasn't going to work. It made him feel somewhat guilty to know that she had the opposite idea, but he pushed away the guilt, because real men didn't let guilt get to them.

The months passed by. He got the raise that he asked for, bought a larger apartment, and had a shotgun wedding with Miriam. Her mother had cried when she found out about it, and her father had nearly given Bob a mouthful about how Miriam "didn't need this" (Miriam had stopped him from continuing on.) He found out little tidbits of information about his child each day – he was disappointed when he learned that the child was a girl, but he figured that it might be nice to have a daughter. Girls were always more innocent than boys, anyway.

On April 12, 1976, Olga Pataki was born into the world. He had named her after his grandmother; his mother had always liked to go on and on about how it was a family name. Bob had nearly been moved to tears when he had seen her for the first time. This was _**his**_ daughter with the little tuft of blonde hair and the blue eyes. He had a child with Miriam, with the woman that he loved and admired. They might not be living in the greatest place yet, but they were going to get there, and little Olga was going to have everything that her heart desired.

Or rather, that was what Bob wanted for her. During the first years of their marriage, Miriam seemed to be holding up decently – she looked a bit tired when she cared for Olga, and Bob knew that she loved Olga, but she didn't _**really**_ seem to want to take care of her. Sometimes, he wondered if she even liked children. She seemed to act like being a homemaker was more of a chore than anything, and he just didn't understand. If _he_ were able to sit around on his butt all day, with his only job being to watch after some kid and make a meal every night, he'd be living in paradise! Besides, Olga was an angel – not a winner yet, not back then, but she smiled often and she _listened_ to him.

When Olga was three, his boss had died. The man had a heart attack when he had been at home, and he had promised in his will that his store would go to Bob. Bob had pushed away the sorrow that he felt about the man's death, even when Miriam tried to encourage him to talk about it – he never did _feelings_ , and he never would. He turned the old electronics store into a beeper store, a while later, when he noticed that beepers were all the rage, but during those years, it was just "Big Bob's Electronics." He bought the house when Olga was four, and Miriam had seemed so happy about it all.

Olga was six when she became the winner that everyone in Hillwood knew her to be. It was mostly his influence, of course – there was no way that Miriam could have influenced it, with all the little vodka bottles that he was starting to find around the house. He argued with her more often, because Olga was just a child, and she shouldn't have to see her mother becoming the wasteland that Miriam seemed to be dragging herself into.

He just didn't understand her anymore. The love of his life was starting to take to vodka just as much as his father had taken to whiskey, and he knew why – she was apparently "unsatisfied" and she wanted to work – but he resented her at first, because she wasn't _supposed_ to turn out like this. He knew that it was unfair, really, but he'd given her a role to play, and all that she was meant to do was follow it. It wasn't difficult, really, but Miriam seemed to have a flair for dramatics these days. He still loved her, and that was what hurt the most; he could see that she was really only happy when Olga was out there, doing something, and he knew how much she saw herself in Olga. He tried to ignore it, and bask in Olga's glories with her, because that was all that they could really do together now.

Life seemed to have bene going fine and dandy as of 1987… and then Miriam had another big announcement. She was pregnant, _again._ He didn't want to do this with her again. He could hear what his mother had said to his father – "Once is a blessing, twice is a curse." He had shouted at her when she told him that she was going to keep the baby, because they didn't _need_ this. It was so _late._ Miriam had barely even enjoyed raising Olga up until Olga had started winning all those awards – why did she want to go through this _again,_ so soon after?

Of course, Miriam had been stubborn about things, arguing him down until he just stopped mentioning that they were going to be having another kid. In March 1988, Helga Pataki was born.

He knew from the moment that he first saw Helga – the kid looked more like him than she did Miriam when she was born – that Helga wasn't going to be the person that he wanted her to be. Even then, she had a stubborn kind of look in her eye. She cried like she had just seen Hell. The entire thing had been a mess, and the doctors said afterward that Miriam had "Postpartum Depression." Great. That was just great.

Helga was a weird toddler. She didn't take any crap from anyone, but she wanted his attention _so_ badly. He hated to admit it, but he and Miriam had rejected her almost from the moment that she was born. He didn't dislike the kid, not back then… but she was nothing like Olga.

When it came to Olga, Helga just couldn't compare. Olga represented everything great about him, about Miriam – she had gotten his drive for success, and she tried to please other people, just as he always had (the only difference was that she actually _**did**_ please people.) Olga had Miriam's smarts, and he saw the same spark of happiness and laughter that he had seen in Miriam. Helga was a decent kid in her own right, he guessed, but everything about her was so… depressing. She walked around the house like she hated he and Miriam, even when she was _six_ years old. She was the opposite of everything that he had grown up learning a girl should be – she didn't put any effort into her physical appearance, and she was probably some kind of feminist. Her grades weren't _awful_ like his had been, but she wasn't _smart,_ not like Olga. He didn't think that she was an idiot or anything, it was more of that she just couldn't compare. He wished that she could compare. He wanted her to compare. A lot of the time, when he was berating her about one thing or another, he was hoping that she'd take a hint – he didn't want her to be _exactly_ like Olga, but he wished that she'd try to listen to him for once. It was so stupid that she never did. It was like she had picked up the worst sides of he and Miriam.

Miriam had never liked to listen to her parents or teachers, either. She marched to the beat of her own drum, too. She'd never liked to listen to him, and that was what had pulled him toward her, and then pulled him away from her so many years later. But the thing about Miriam was that she had ambition and goals, which the girl just didn't seem to have (and she was beautiful in a conventional way, too, which helped.) As for him… as much as he hated to admit it, he'd look at Helga on some days and _see_ himself in her. He could see it in the way that she walked, the way that she talked to people at times. But he knew that she was… better. A better person. He could see it in her eyes. Even if he had ever treated her like his father had treated him (he couldn't even _imagine_ treating her like his father had treated him,) he just knew that Helga would never even consider acting out toward him in anger. Helga would never hate he or Miriam, and that was something that made him sad and angry to think about. He had broken her spirit, Miriam had broken her spirit – but he didn't know how to fix it, and it just made him angry to think about, so he didn't.

He had always figured that the fact that he made enough money for her to live comfortably meant that Helga should be grateful, but he couldn't even seem to do _that_ for her anymore.

The sales had been starting to go down around the time that Olga was in her junior year of college, and the girl was… how old? Oh, whatever, that wasn't the point – the point was that people weren't buying beepers anymore, and for the love of his life, he couldn't figure out _why._ Well, that wasn't necessarily accurate… he knew _why._ It was because of those cell phones that all those school kids were buying. He wasn't about to become some kind of a cell-phone salesman. He _hated_ cell-phones. They were so confusing, all those buttons. He knew that it was a bit old-fashioned, but he didn't care – he was _not_ changing over to cell-phones, and he was not about to have years of hard work come crumbling down.

But that was exactly what had happened. He worked long and hard, going from house to house to try and sell those beepers that he had. He still put up his signs. But it wasn't working out, not in the way that he hoped it would. Those kids laughed at him for having beepers, and they were all asking their parents for cell-phones.

He worked his butt off, he really did. He told himself that they were all wrong, that they'd see the day. But they didn't see the day, and he didn't see the day. All that he saw, right now, was Miriam passed out on the couch, and Helga, looking so, so, miserable, eating her dinner.

He felt bad about it all, as he glanced at them. He wouldn't admit it, couldn't admit it, because it would destroy his pride, but he had destroyed them. He had given them roles to play, told them what he wanted them to do… and yet, he had failed at succeeding within his own role. Maybe those roles were too hard to keep up with, he thought quietly.

People were always wrong, yes. But at the end of the day, Bob Pataki knew that maybe he had been the most wrong of them all.


End file.
